


we are but dust and shadow

by peppermintquartz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Surgeon/Cop AU, will is a cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cop-in-training Will saves a man from a mugger.<br/>The man turns out to be Hannibal Lecter, a reclusive former surgeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are but dust and shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CharlieMads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMads/gifts).



> From a post on my tumblr that turned into a 'politely' worded demand that i write this AU :)  
> Here you go CausticQuery!

“Thank you,” the older gentleman said, picking himself off the ground and wincing slightly as he examined his right wrist.

Will Graham's mouth twitched into a hint of a smile. “You're welcome. Sorry I couldn't get him.”

“That's alright.” The man brushed his silvery-blond fringe from his eyes. “It could have been dangerous.”

_He is very striking,_ Will realized, his heart lurching when the evening sun fell on the man at just the right angle to enhance his profile. He busied himself with helping the other man pick up the fallen groceries – packaged meals, much like what Will was used to, but there were fruit as well – and when he was done gathering up the apples and limes that had rolled all over the sidewalk, he piled it all into his backpack and duffel.

“I could take them-” the other man offered.

“Your paper bag's torn, and you've hurt your wrist,” Will said. He felt clumsy and awkward. Strange, considering that just ten minutes ago he had just rescued this older man from a mugger with a knife. Not his typical Wednesday evening, to be sure. “I could walk you home. Or to the hospital, if you want to see that treated.”

“I can treat it myself.” The man hesitated, and then nodded minutely. “I was a doctor.”

“That's reassuring,” said Will, shifting the backpack to balance out the weight, all the while avoiding the other man's eyes. “I'm Will Graham.”

“I'm Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter.”

*****

They strolled all the way to Hannibal's home in silence. It wasn't the weighted silence of words that wanted to be said, nor the comfortable silence between friends; it was a silence that was gossamer-light and empty, like the emptiness of a fine china teacup. Whether either of them wanted to fill it or not didn't matter – it was there, and its existence didn't need to be acknowledged.

Will had been expecting an apartment, maybe a penthouse. Instead, he was stunned to see the soaring facade of the miniature mansion. Will guessed he should not have been surprised. After all, Hannibal's clothes were expensive and well-made, the classic design masking the man in elegance. And it was a mask: Hannibal sported a three-day stubble and a haggard cast to his masculine face.

“Please, come in,” said Hannibal politely, but he was standing in the darkness just inside of the doorway, as though reluctant to cede his private space to another person.

Will smiled tightly. “I don't want to impose. I'll just set down your groceries and, uh, and maybe help you with your wrist, and I'll be on my way.”

Behind the mask, Hannibal seemed relieved. He stepped further into his house and Will followed.

It was gloomy and dark, but even so, Will could tell the house was beautifully appointed. he was not used to displays of wealth, but he had a keen eye for balance and aesthetic appeal, and Hannibal displayed immaculate taste, tending towards the carnal. The walls were papered with rich patterns or painted with saturated hues; in sunlight, they would probably appear overlaid with jewels. Right then, however, Will felt suffocated by the imposing shadows.

Hannibal led them into a large and impressive kitchen, but there was an air of disuse about it. Will quickly took out the other man's groceries from his backpack. When he noticed how Hannibal grimaced while opening the refrigerator, he said tentatively, “Is it bad?”

“It's only a sprain,” said Hannibal quickly. “I fell on it earlier when the mugger shoved me.”

“I'm pretty sure you need an X-Ray for that.”

“It's really just a minor sprain,” Hannibal said. “Rest, ice, compress and elevate. It should recover quickly.”

Will nodded. “Let me help, please. You shouldn't be moving that hand and... I'm not a doctor, but I don't think you can put on a compression bandage with just your left hand.”

The hesitation on Hannibal's face was nearly imperceptible, but Will had long learned to read people's faces and he had an uncanny ability to pick up on emotions, so the younger man added, “I'll be out of your hair after that. I just... I just want to be sure you're okay.”

“I insist that you stay for an early dinner.” Hannibal's smile was oddly nervous, like he was unused to doing so. “I have to thank you in some way.”

*****

Over dinner Will formed a few impressions of Hannibal.

First of all, the man was freakishly intelligent and could meet practically any remark with a brilliant quote or an acute observation.

Secondly, the man knew how to cook, because _damn_. The grilled lamp chop tasted fantastic, though he could have phrased his compliment better (“This is the best thing I've ever put in my mouth! It's like a meat party in here.”) It was therefore baffling why Hannibal was only allowing himself a microwaved lasagna.

Thirdly, something traumatic had happened to turn Hannibal into a hermit. The older man said very little, smiling at Will's enthusiastic appreciation when he saw Will looking, but now and then the severe features darkened into something close to emptiness.

The house was a mystery too. The saturated colors, the luxurious fittings, the elegance, the spaciousness... This house was not built to be locked up in. Everything about the layout suggested that Hannibal used to love entertaining. But practically every piece of furnishing was covered with drop cloths, and what surfaces were exposed, a thick layer of dust had settled on it. Will thought he might have seen cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, but it was so dim and gloomy that he could not be sure.

Yet this wasn't something Will could bring up – even with his abysmal social skills, he knew better than to comment on all these inconsistencies over dinner, let alone someone he had met just over an hour ago.

*****

“You don't have to help me with the dishes, Will,” said Hannibal when Will started clearing away the empty plates.

“I was brought up to help,” said Will with a half-smile, not meeting the older man's eyes. It was too painful. “And you need to rest that wrist.”

“I don't want to delay you.” Hannibal followed Will into the kitchen. “You seemed to be heading someplace when you stopped the mugger.”

Will's lips twitched into a small smile. “I was just looking for the cheapest motel available. I'm sure there's a room somewhere I can park my stuff while I look for an apartment to rent, and, uh, some people to rent it with.” He gestured to the backpack and duffel tossed at the entry to the kitchen. “That's all I have for the academy, right there.”

“You live simply,” said Hannibal.

Will shrugged. “Whatever I have that's really important are left in my family home. These are daily essentials.”

“You mentioned an academy.”

“Police. I'm a cop in training.” Will rinsed the plates and started placing them into the dishwasher Hannibal pointed out to him. “Hand-to-hand combat came in useful today.”

“It did.” Hannibal inclined his head. “I feel safer already.”

*****

Will found himself a crappy motel with a decent WiFi signal, and there weren't any weird characters, other than this nosy redhead with the seriously predatory fashion sense three doors down, so he was all right with this being his place of residence until he could find a single room for rent, or some people to share a flat with.

He also found himself buying some organic produce and heading to Hannibal's place in Chandler Square on Friday afternoon, after training had let out for the weekend. All that microwaveable crap had to be disgusting, for someone who was that good at cooking; there was no reason for Hannibal to deny himself some fresh produce. Slightly worried that he might be overstepping some boundaries, Will headed to Chandler Square for the beautiful house.

One middle-aged man living alone with a sprained wrist shouldn't make him worried, yet Will was concerned. There was something wounded in Hannibal, and Will was never good at turning a blind eye.

Hence, he came to Hannibal's door and rang the doorbell. He wasn't surprised when it took a long time before he sensed anyone coming to the door. Once he was reasonably sure Hannibal was behind it, Will smiled at the small peephole in what he had been told was the most disarming manner he had. He was as unused to reassurance as he was to smiling; he hoped that did not reflect in his expression.

“I brought you some trout, some organic carrots, and bok choy,” said Will, holding up the bag. “I don't have a place to cook and I was hoping I could use your kitchen.”

It was a flimsy and silly excuse, but the door opened regardless, with Hannibal keeping to the shadows, and Will stepped in. He was surprised to see that the other man was dressed in a well-tailored shirt and slacks.

“Hi. If you were going out-” Will blurted, thinking that he might have been wrong in his reading of the man.

“I always attire myself in this manner on weekdays. Please, come in.” Hannibal stepped aside, not without glancing outside like he was scanning for enemies.

“How's your wrist?” asked Will, suddenly embarrassed at his fib. “I'm sorry, I would have called but, uh, I didn't get your number and I just wanted to see how you were.”

Hannibal's smile was almost not noticeable, had Will not been staring at the other man's stubbled jaw. “I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, Will.”

“Yeah, well. Um. If you'd rather I go then I will-”

“Please, stay.”

Will nibbled on his lower lip. “I brought enough for two, so if you have onions and celery I'll make dinner for us both.”

*****

This time there was more conversation, though mostly centered on Will's life around Lake Erie and his reasons for joining the police force. The former doctor (Will could not be certain what discipline Hannibal had been trained in, though the dexterous fingers spoke of surgeon) complimented Will's cooking sincerely, and Will answered questions without asking any.

To Will, it felt like Hannibal had been dying for human contact. He drank in all of Will's gestures and expressions, inquired and probed and questioned, all the things Will would never have tolerated from anyone else, but did to ease the hunger in Hannibal's blood-tinted eyes.

At the end of the evening, Hannibal and Will exchanged numbers. Will resisted texting him until he got back to his room, and even then, all he sent was: 'thanks for indulging me'.

_'You're welcome. Feel free to indulge yourself at my home anytime, Will.'_

*****

Will visited again late Sunday morning, this time with a beautifully baked apple pie from a bakery the motel manager recommended.

Hannibal accepted it, and provided roast chicken with handmade pasta for Will's lunch, which the latter refused to eat unless Hannibal shared it too. They talked about writers and artists they liked. Will couldn't remember the last time he was this social – in fact, for all that he was less learned than Hannibal in this area, Will talked far more – and attributed it to the other man's attentive silence. Before sunset, Hannibal showed the trainee cop one of his folios, full of perfectly scaled architectural drawings.

He then drew Will's face, just a cartoon, but with incredible likeness in just a few sketchy strokes. Will grinned when he saw it, and Hannibal promised to complete it and have it framed and mounted properly.

“There's no need to go to that much trouble for me,” said Will.

Hannibal put away the sketchpad. “Let me be the judge of that.”

****

The third time Will visited, armed with a bagful of mangoes and curry ingredients, there was a woman at the door. She was very pretty, with dark brown hair curling exquisitely over her shoulders and kissable lips set in a determined expression.

“Hi,” said Will. “Are you looking for Hannibal?”

“As always. Who are you?” she asked, almost brusquely.

He stuck out a hand. “Will Graham. I'm Hannibal's friend.”

“He's never mentioned you before,” said the woman, a suspicious cast to her gaze.

“We met just last week,” said Will. He felt suddenly uncertain of what was happening, and that made his skin itch. “And who are _you?_ ”

“Alana Bloom. You've really only just met?”

“Yes.”

“How is he?” she asked eagerly. She wrung her hands and glanced at the heavy door. “He's not... I've not seen him in over two years. I text and come by, and he usually leaves a note on the door, but- I didn't get a note today and I was worried. Is he okay?”

“He's all right,” said Will shortly. He wasn't sure if Hannibal would want him to share details with this woman. “Look, obviously he's not up to seeing you, so if you have a message for him I could tell him, or maybe you could text him.”

He didn't mean to be rude to this lovely brunette with her dark brown tresses and sad eyes. He was trying to formulate an apology about the way he phrased his statement when she nodded and said, “Please tell him that I came by and, um... and that his friends still miss him.”

“Miss Alana Bloom, right? I'll tell him.”

“Just Alana will do, Mr Graham.”

“Just Will then.”

“Thanks, Will.” She cast one more longing look at the tightly-closed door. “Bye, Hannibal.”

It was clear that Hannibal had been just inside the door, because once Alana drove away, the door opened. As always, Hannibal stood in the behind the door and waited for Will to enter.

“I heard,” the older man said before Will could speak.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Will asked, and then cleared his throat. “Sorry. She seemed very concerned.”

Hannibal shook his head. “I mentored her in her residency at Johns Hopkins.”

“A fellow doctor, huh.” Will smiled. “I think she meant what she said. That your friends miss you.”

“And I them,” said Hannibal pensively, “yet I cannot muster the will to face them.”

Will chewed on the inside of his cheek. “You face me okay.”

“You don't know what I’ve done,” said Hannibal in the same quiet, resigned tone. “It's... easier, facing you, knowing that you are unaware.”

“What, have you killed and eaten people? Because that's about the worst thing I can think of off the top of my head,” said Will. He sighed and handed over the groceries. “Look, I don't wanna pry, but I don't think you enjoy all this self-imposed isolation.”

Hannibal did not respond, but offered Will a glass of Riesling. Then he peered inside the bag. “Chicken curry all right with you?”

“Yeah. For some reason I was sure you could make the dish.” It wasn't a coincidence: Will had seen some colorful mandala art in the foyer. The younger man leaned against one of the counters. “It's some kind of penance, isn't it, whatever you're doing to yourself?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me, Will?”

“Should I?”

“Given that I was considering psychiatric practice, possibly not your best idea.”

“Someone should try. Even I know being alone isn't healthy.” The young trainee cop rubbed his elbow. “And I don't like people much.”

Hannibal glanced over at him; the spices were frying nicely, and the spicy scent filled the kitchen with a golden, warm aroma. “So why do you visit me?”

The question threw Will for a loop. He mulled over the many possible reasons, some of which had to do with how good-looking Hannibal was, and some were just specious and stupid. It wasn't until Hannibal was stirring in the coconut milk that Will decided to be honest.

“I visit you because I’m lonely too.”

Hannibal turned to regard the young man, possibly surprised by his candor. There was so much unsaid in his expression that Will had to avert his eyes, lest he read too deeply.

“I don't mind solitude, but I don't like being lonely,” Will explained. “I don't think you do, either. Otherwise you'd have moved away from Baltimore, set up a home elsewhere that's secluded and isolated, far from your friends. I think... I think you want to return to your life from before, but you're apprehensive of... of something.”

There was a strange moment when time seemed to slow as they just looked at each other, Hannibal inscrutable and Will nervous. Then Hannibal broke eye contact and went back to cooking. Will sipped his wine, and stared at his shoes, wishing he hadn't said a word.

*****

“I could be your landlord,” Hannibal said out of nowhere when Will was about to leave after a dinner, full of awkward silences and punctuated with stilted conversation.

“Excuse me?”

“I could... Never mind.” The undertone to Hannibal's sigh was rueful.

Will smiled in mild embarrassment. “No, I meant... I didn't quite hear you. Or, I thought I didn't hear you – you want me to live here?”

Hannibal looked almost shy, his gaze cast on the tiled floor and his throat working. “You were right, about solitude and loneliness.”

“Not the penance bit?”

“No. It isn't penance. It is... avoidance.” Hannibal licked his lips. “Do consider my offer, please.”

It was tempting. Hannibal was obviously, painfully in need of someone to talk to, and even with Will's appalling social skills, the young man could see that he was helping Hannibal overcome some internal struggle. Yet he could not, in good conscience, take advantage.

“I can't afford all this... this.” Will gestured at the opulence and made a wry expression of regret. “I'd love to. I can't.”

“How much were you setting aside for rent?” Hannibal asked.

Will stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, so that Hannibal wouldn't see him clenching his fists. “Eight hundred a month.”

“Pay me that,” said the former doctor, “and in return you have the use of whatever you like in the house.”

“I... I don't-” Will tried to protest, but it was an incredible offer, and he was – to his own surprise – gratified that Hannibal was reaching out to him. “I'll think about it?”

The older man managed a smile – still raw, still unpracticed, as though it was a forgotten skill – and tipped his head forward. “That is all I ask.”

*****

Will moved in three days later, still clad in his uniform.

Hannibal had hung the cartoon sketch on the door to the room Will was “renting”. The trainee cop had to grin – Hannibal had made it more of a caricature, and emphasized what his former girlfriend had described as Will's puppy eyes.

It was kind of sweet, and kind of sad, that Hannibal was doing something like this for someone he barely knew. How far would he have gone for his real friends?

*****

It turned out that Hannibal kept to his bedroom and study for the most part, so Will was rather relieved he didn't have to make small talk throughout the days when he was not at the academy. To assuage his guilt at living in such a luxurious place at such a low price, Will took to cleaning the house if he got back early and also on the weekends. Hannibal trailed after Will, though the young man never asked him to help.

There was a lot of dust gathered throughout the many rooms. The industrial-strength vacuum got a good workout, as did Will, climbing up and down stepladders to dust the countless shelves of books and displays in the house. When Will asked, Hannibal would talk about where he got a trinket or a book or a painting. Sometimes Hannibal would catch himself saying “we”, and then he'd pause, and leave the room for a few minutes. Will wondered who the other party was – he or she must have been very important to Hannibal.

The home gym was something that surprised Will. Hannibal was trim and lean, more gymnast than bodybuilder.

“The machines are functional,” said Hannibal when they were done vacuuming the carpeted floor.

“Do you still train?” Will checked out the array of weights and prodded the mats in the corner. He eyed the treadmill with longing – on rainy days, he would have to forego his favorite form of exercise. He would have given a lot to have a treadmill in his teenage years, particularly after that brutal breakup with Sean, and the breakup with the rebound Lisa after that.

“Pilates, weight training, and running. Not running as often lately,” said Hannibal in his quiet, near-monotonous delivery.

“Mm. I prefer the outdoors when I run,” said Will, carefully casual. “I miss having Cassie with me though.”

“Cassie?”

“My first dog. Died when I was fifteen. The best mutt anyone could rescue.” Will cricked his neck and made sure he was not looking at Hannibal when he added, “I'm not saying you have to, but I’d like it if you would join me on my runs now and then. I go so early that there's hardly anybody out there anyway.”

*****

Hannibal started running with him two mornings after that remark. Not every time, but often enough he would meet him by the door in jogging gear, and they would head out into the quiet, predawn chill.

Will did not comment on it, but he ran with a huge smile every time the older man joined him.

*****

Whatever Hannibal had suffered, it had led to a despair that lurked constantly in maroon eyes. The few occasions Will heard the harpsichord or theremin playing, he would feel the stirring of sorrow in his gut, but recently Hannibal seemed better. Healthier, at least, and there were more frequent expressions of mild amusement or good humor.

The wounded hurt in his gaze seemed to fade, or at least grow fainter when Will surreptitiously studied the older man. Will didn't want to think it was due to his presence, but there was little aside from that that had changed in Hannibal's life. The only other major difference was the condition of the house itself: it was no longer dusty and gloomy, and it was as though a weight had been released from the interior. Will had the curtains drawn to let sunlight stream into the spacious rooms, and now he could marvel at the amazing collections on display in the three different sitting rooms and the study when Hannibal was otherwise occupied in the kitchen.

There was something vulnerable about the reticent and withdrawn Hannibal Lecter that called to Will's compassion, the side of him that made him rescue stray dogs in the past (and probably in the future, when he got his own house), and the incredible wealth of knowledge in that silvery ash-blond head piqued Will's curiosity and intellect. However, Hannibal needed to walk out of his own shadows first, and Will was too aware of the disparity of their statuses, even with Hannibal living the life of a recluse.

*****

It was nearly seven weeks before Alana Bloom visited again. This time, Will opened the door, but he stepped outside instead of inviting her in.

“Oh, it's you!” She was surprised. “I wasn't... Um. Will... Graham. Will Graham, right? Are you visiting?”

“I live here now,” he informed her.

“Huh?” Alana shook herself. “I'm sorry, that was rude.”

Will grinned. She was cute. “No, it's, uh, it's okay. I'm paying a heavily subsidized rent – Hannibal's letting me stay while I help him clean up the house.”

She looked genuinely pleased. Will wondered if she and Hannibal were ever a couple. Not something he could ask. She nodded and said, “That's good. That he has company. I mean, I understand why he wouldn't want to see us any more, but being a hermit wasn't helping, and, well. At least you're here. What do you do, anyway?”

“I'm a trainee cop,” said Will, knowing that he looked older than his real age with the stubble. That was an intentional effort to not be trivialized or mocked by his peers. “Gonna go into the field in a month.”

“Wow, that's fantastic,” said Alana sincerely, but she was also distracted. She seemed to be the sort to wear her heart on her sleeve, and it was painfully clear that she wanted to know more about Hannibal than Will.

Will stuffed his hands into his pockets. “He's all right. I've got him running with me most mornings now before I go to the academy. And he goes grocery shopping.”

“You seem to be... you seem to be helping him.” She studied him for a moment. “Are you aware of what happened?”

“No,” said Will truthfully. “I've avoided Googling, since it's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it or let it be a topic that is not talked about. And I don't want to know it until he tells me.”

“Okay, that's good, he needs a friend who doesn't know abo-” Alana caught herself mid-word, and smiles awkwardly. “Um. Nice meeting you, Will, again. And I'm really happy Hannibal's getting... getting back to himself.”

The young man held up a hand and wagged his fingers. “Nice seeing you too, Alana.”

*****

Hannibal barely looked over at Will when he returned to the kitchen to help with dinner preparations. “If you want, I can pass you her number.”

Will blinked in bemusement. “I- Whose number?”

“Alana Bloom. She's intelligent, very compassionate, and sensible. She's much like you.” Hannibal glanced up from the saucepan where he was glazing some carrots for their early dinner. “You should get along quite well.”

“Hold up,” said Will. “I don't... Hannibal, I’m not. Um. Okay, she's pretty and, well, her lips are very kissable, but I'm not going to, uh, ”

The older man set the pan aside and then busied himself with retrieving some bottles of oils or herbs. “Oh? Why not? She's very attractive.”

Then Will realized what that odd undertone to Hannibal's words was. It was _jealousy_. The revelation hit Will like a mac truck, driving his breath out of his lungs. He strode around the prep island and announced, “You're an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Will grabbed Hannibal by the wrist, yanked him close, and kissed him thoroughly. When he pulled away again, just a breath between them, he said, “And I'm a moron.”

Hannibal's smile this time was one of disbelief and delight. “I think dinner should wait.”

“I agree completely.”

*****

Much as he would love to have Hannibal naked under him in a bed – he didn't care which bed, or if there were a bed, to be honest – they had to be mature adults and talk about this new development.

Neither seemed much inclined to talking, however. Hannibal was solid and hot beneath him in the sturdy chair in the kitchen, with Will's knees braced on the outside of Hannibal's thighs. The younger man could not stop trailing his lips and tongue over Hannibal's luscious mouth, nor keep his hands from mussing up silvery-blond hair. Hannibal himself was freely exploring Will's body – his hands kept wandering over Will's torso, scraping blunt nails over Will's ribs and trailing fingertips down his spine.

“Okay,” Will finally exhaled and pulled away enough to smile down at Hannibal. “Okay. We have to, um, we have to talk.”

“This is not conducive to a heart-to-heart talk,” Hannibal pointed out reasonably, though his large and clever hands were still holding on to Will's slim hips.

“No. Sorry.” Will scrambled off and leaned his hip against the nearest counter. He tried and failed to avert his eyes from the tent in Hannibal's slacks; he was acutely aware of the tightness in his own. A few deep breaths made him feel a little more in control and he rubbed his nose sheepishly. “Okay. Not a hormonal teenager.”

There was a hint of amusement around Hannibal's eyes. “So you want to talk.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know barely anything about you.”

“Oh? I'd've thought you would look me up online.”

“No, I didn't,” said Will, his fingers plucking at the hem of his shirt. “I'd rather you tell me.”

The older man stared at Will, and then ran a finger over his lips. “You may not like me after you hear everything.”

“I don't know about that, but I should be given the option, right?”

“I killed my sister.”

Will stared. It took him far longer than it should for his mind to start processing the information, but when it had, he had to take a few more seconds to figure out what to say. “I'm sorry. What happened?”

Hannibal looked away. Even in profile, he seemed old and tired. “I was a trauma surgeon. She was in an accident, and I insisted on doing the operation when I should not have. I failed.” He inhaled deeply and whispered, “I killed her.”

“You couldn't save her,” Will corrected in the gentlest tone he could manage.

“She died under my hands, in my care. I literally had my hands in her blood, Will. And instead of the blame I deserved, everyone showed me pity.” Hannibal pushed out of the chair and went up to his bedroom.

Will did not follow.

*****

The remainder of the month was as uncomfortable as walking on eggshells. _With pins under the eggshells_. They stopped having meals together when Will was home (the young man filled himself with cheap takeout, which now tasted like plastic), and Will kept to his room and tried to find the right things to say to Hannibal.

If the house was not so large, they would have had some tense meetings; as it were, Will saw neither hide nor hair of the former surgeon.

The young man wished he had gone straight up to Hannibal immediately after his confession. Thousands of iterations had played out in Will's mind at night, when he was not exhausted from training. Sometimes he thought he had the right words. Sometimes he wondered if he ought to move out.

Most of the time, he wished he had the courage to go to Hannibal and kiss him again, tell him that it didn't matter.

*****

Will cleared the academy easily, and for field training, he and two others were set up with a Sergeant Stamos, a grizzled veteran with a potty mouth and a penchant for beignets done the proper New Orleans style. Will thanked God for that – he missed the signature fritters, and the sergeant introduced him to a hidden gem of a bakery just behind HQ.

He bought a dozen home, and was happily munching on them in the kitchen when Hannibal walked in.

“Oh. I wasn't-” Will brushed at his suger-flecked lips. “Um. Hi. Do you want me to go?”

Hannibal swallowed visibly. “I'd rather you don't.”

Will put down the beignet in his hand. “There's still seven more, if you want them.”

“I was going to make dinner. I bought rabbit. Would you... would you share the meal with me?”

“Of course. I'd share anything with you,” Will blurted. He chewed on his lower lip and chuckled. “That was not- I didn't rehearse that in my head.”

Hannibal paused by the refrigerator. His face was devoid of expression – which possibly meant that he was surprised. “You rehearse conversations with me in your head?”

Will scrubbed the back of his neck. “I keep having these imaginary talks to figure out what to say to you. I'm not good with – I'm not good with people.”

“You're good with me,” Hannibal offered. He shut the door to the fridge and wiped his hands. “Tell me exactly what you think. Not the rehearsed words.”

“I don't pity you, and I don't think you should be blamed either,” said Will in a rush, feeling the words tumble over his tongue like clumsy gamboling kittens. “I do like you, a lot, and that I wish I had had the chance to meet your sister because she must have been an amazing person for you to have loved her so much, and that I think you have no need to isolate yourself from the world because she wouldn't have wanted you to, and I didn't mean to unload like this and it's the sugar talking, really, and I should shut up now.”

The silence that descended made the air itself feel dense. Will held his breath and waited to be told off.

Instead, Hannibal came to him, kept coming until Will had to brace his hands behind him; he gasped when the doctor pressed his mouth over Will's, tasting the remnants of the confectionery as he swept his tongue over sugar-coated lips. Will groaned and wrapped his arms around the older man's shoulder and neck, pulling himself closer, never breaking the kiss. He sucked on Hannibal's tongue, and then shoved his own into Hannibal's mouth to drink in the taste of the other man.

“God, Hannibal,” Will murmured when they parted to catch their breaths. “No one blames you, no one, except you, and you've locked yourself away long enough. You have to stop punishing yourself. You don't belong in the shadows.”

“It still hurts, Will,” Hannibal whispered harshly. His fingers dug into Will's biceps painfully. “I can't – I don't think I can.”

“I know, I know it hurts, I understand. Let it hurt.” Will kissed Hannibal along his cheeks, his brow. “Your friends miss you, and they know you've been hurting. Let them help. Let me help.”

Hannibal exhaled shakily, and buried his face into the crook of Will's shoulder and neck. Will held on, certain that if he let go, the other man would fall.

*****

It was not an easy transition back into the world for Hannibal. He had been a recluse for years now, only venturing out when he knew he would not meet any acquaintances, so rebuilding all those relationships was painful and raw, in its own way.

Alana Bloom was the first to be invited back into the house, and upon seeing Hannibal, she had burst into tears and hugged him so tightly, Will half thought she would strangle Hannibal.

“You've lost weight,” she said, smiling through her tears. She looked beautiful in her distress.

“I don't have large dinners the way I used to,” said Hannibal, and kissed her on the cheek tenderly. “Thank you, Alana. For persisting.”

The woman wiped away her tears. “You are worth the effort, Hannibal. And Will? Thanks.”

Will shrugged. He wasn't comfortable with emotional displays. “So. Who's hungry?”

******

Then there was the matter of Hannibal looking for something to occupy his time with. Alana suggested returning to surgery, and the suggestion was shot down immediately.

“I am not mentally and emotionally secure enough to enter an operating theater, Alana,” said Hannibal gently. “In fact, I think my first step would be to engage a psychiatrist.”

“The talking cure?” Will tilted his head thoughtfully.

Alana nodded. “Do you need recommendations?”

“I have someone in mind,” said Hannibal, and topped up her wine. “And I am considering psychiatry practice.”

Will wasn't sure what expression he wore, but Hannibal noticed, and a tiny frown marred the placid features.

*****

“You don't approve of my studying psychiatry,” said Hannibal later that night as they washed up. Domestic and sweet, and completely out of the realm of Will's experiences. He didn't do domestic often enough for it to be mundane, and so it scared him a little.

“I'm just a little nervous about someone who may poke around in my brain,” said Will. “You won't be able to shut it off, and I don't want anyone in my head.”

Hannibal hesitated. “You feel threatened.”

“Aaaand you're already doing it.”

Hannibal licked his lips. “Should I feel sorry for wanting to know you better?”

Will let his shoulders sag. “No. Sorry. I was being a jerkass. Look, I’m glad you have an idea of what you want to do, and well, I can't dictate your choices. And I... I trust you not to dissect my brain to hurt me with it.”

“I won't.” The older man looked pensive. “You trust easily.”

“I'm usually fairly defensive.”

“Not with me.”

“Because you're as damaged as I am.” Will made a wry grin. “Old chipped mugs should stay together.”

Hannibal had to smile at that. “So you see me as an old chipped mug?”

“More like a scalpel that needs a bit of sharpening,” Will amended. He cocked his head. “And how do you see me?”

“Beautiful.”

Will's heart lurched painfully in his chest. He had to avert his eyes and stared at the sink, the back of his neck and his ears growing hot with embarrassed pleasure.

Hannibal was behind him before Will truly registered it, and he let out an undignified squawk when the other man wrapped his muscled forearms over his shoulders and chest.

“Last night, I allowed myself to pray, for the first time since Mischa and I lost our parents,” whispered Hannibal. His voice was reverent and low, and his fingers clung to Will's umber shirt. “I think I had to lose Mischa, because I had to be ready for you to enter my life.”

Touched, Will had to swallow to get his thoughts in order. “I can't replace what she meant to you, Hannibal.”

“I know. You are something else entirely.” The kiss that Hannibal pressed to Will's curls was very firm. “Both of you at the same time would have been too much happiness for any one man to have.”

Will had to kiss him after that.

*****

For the time being, Will was on the night shift, so instead of having the lengthy dinners that Hannibal prepared nowadays, Will was stuck with meals packed in fancy Tupperware. He felt like a newlywed husband from an old story or something, though Hannibal might be opposed to being called a bride.

The guys at work had taken to teasing him for the absolutely delicious dinners and being completely envious of what he had. They assumed it was a new girlfriend. Will hadn't told them that he was actually sort-of-but-not-quite dating his landlord, who was a guy.

In fact, were they dating?

They had yet to actually progress past kissing and the occasional groping, usually against a wall or kitchen counter; Hannibal still refused to leave the house at the times when his past acquaintances would be out and about, so no dates so far. He still knew too little about Hannibal. On the other hand, Hannibal had all but grilled his dental and medical records out of him, with long talks before or after they made out.

Will flushed. He was already very much infatuated with the man, and he could see himself falling in love with him. Enigmatic, composed, brilliant, shattered within; Hannibal Lecter was, quite simply, the most fascinating person Will had ever met, male or female.

O'Reilly poked his head into the break room where the trainees were gathered for their dinner. “Graham, you're out with me tonight. Show you a few spots where you're likely to be called to when you're an actual rookie.”

“Sure, O'Reilly.” Will put away his meal and stuffed it into the locker with his coat. “Gimme a minute.”

*****

He wasn't supposed to end up with a stab wound in the third week of his attachment to the BPD.

_It's enlightening,_ Will thought with the detachment of someone with a knife in his shoulder, _how pain can focus a person's attention this easily._

O'Reilly had taken down the perpetrator with a well-placed punch to the solar plexus, and then sweeping out his legs. It was just a skinny, strung-out junkie with pasty skin and dirty hair couting out money from a few picked wallets. The kid had seen Will and O'Reilly in the mouth of the alley, panicked, and stabbed Will. Will had been taken by surprise; O'Reilly and he were just peering in to see what was going on.

Thankfully the injury was not life-threatening. Will would have been quite pissed to sustain a life-threatening stabbing before he even became a full-fledged cop.

“You're gonna need proper stitches,” said O'Reilly after the junkie had been taken in and Will had been roughly patched up. The young trainee was being ushered into the ambulance for further treatment at the hospital.

“I know a guy who can do that,” said Will.

“A doctor, yes. Now get on with it, I have reports to prepare for tonight.”

Will shook his head. “My landlord's a doctor, and I won't have to sit in a hospital to be prodded at.”

“That kid's knife is probably infested with all sorts of germs. Gimme your landlord's name and address, I'll pop by and let him know you're at the hospital.”

“Hannibal Lecter, 5 Chandler Square.”

“Hannibal Lecter? Pull the other leg, why don't you?”

Will kept a hand on the packing for his wound. “What's wrong with that?”

O'Reilly snorted. “He was all over the news a couple years ago. Tried out some unorthodox surgical procedure on his own sister, caused her death. He'd refused to leave the operating theater after she flatlined for almost an hour – even attacked the security personnel who tried to get him out. Heard he'd been prone to using unorthodox methods on others too, but they survived.”

“He had just lost his sister,” Will pointed out, just as the doors to the ambulance closed, but he stayed silent on the topic of Hannibal Lecter on the way to the hospital. O'Reilly wouldn't understand. The paramedics tending him wouldn't care.

He could see it, though: Hannibal realizing he had not succeeded, that he was only human. Realizing and _raging_ helplessly against a God who took away his only family, someone with whom he had built a life after the loss of his parents, someone whom he loved and cherished above everyone else in his life.

After over two months of living together, he understood Hannibal's fundamental nature was one of control – the loss of his sister must have felt so complete a rejection and a denial of his control over the events of his world, that he had punished his loss of control by ceding his personal space to anarchy.

Instinctively Will knew that Hannibal had come home after that day from the hospital and, other than perhaps the bathroom, his bed, and the kitchen, not touched anything else. The drop cloths were not for keeping dust off the furniture, but to preserve whatever trace Hannibal's sister had left on them.

Will was stunned into silence by his own observations. That Hannibal allowed him to clean up suddenly took on more significance than it had seemed at the time.

“ _You are something else entirely.”_ Though it had seemed an innocuously sentimental remark at the time, Will now felt the full weight of what it meant to be an entirely new creature in Hannibal's world. He expected to feel nervous, or even afraid, with how huge the responsibility placed on him was; instead, he just felt curiously warm and fiercely protective inside.

*****

To Will's surprise, Hannibal actually turned up at the hospital. A casual observer would only see a silver-haired middle-aged man waiting for Will to be discharged. 

Will however noticed the tells: tight jaw, darting eyes, unable to maintain contact, the compulsive swallowing when no one was looking, the tightly-clenched fists, the rigid set of his broad shoulders, the haunted cast to his features.

Everything about Hannibal screamed that he did not want to be in a hospital setting. It had to be some sort of nightmare for him – all the activity had to be too familiar to be comforting, the patterns and the lingo traded easily between doctors and nurses, the antiseptic smell, the ever-present worry of infection and death. Where Hannibal had been in control once, and lost it spectacularly and tragically.

Anxious didn't begin to cover what Hannibal must be feeling, yet he was here, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair.

He was here, for Will.

He was actually here for Will Graham.

Will thought he might be falling in love, just a little, and prayed to God and also to Hannibal's sister that he did not fuck this up.

“Will?” said Hannibal, coming up to him at the nurses' station after the younger man filled out some forms. He saw the edge of the bandage and licked his lips. “Stitches?”

“Yes.” 

Hannibal took Will's hands and squeezed his fingers. His voice was exceedingly shaky and low when he said, “I would have done it for you.” 

It wasn't just about the stitches.

“I know,” said Will, and kissed him where everyone could see, and secretly hoped that he would be able to keep this strange, damaged man for the rest of his life. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> not adding more chapters to this! I wanna finish For Him I Sing, and that one has mutated to many more chapters than I originally anticipated so... yeah.


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